


My Only Guiding Light

by violetvaria



Series: Stable AU [14]
Category: MacGyver (TV 2016)
Genre: Fluff and Angst, Gen, Stable AU, college-age Mac, dad!Jack, some physical affection but not as much as usual, teen!Mac
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-05-06
Updated: 2019-05-06
Packaged: 2020-02-26 22:00:22
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,033
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18725830
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/violetvaria/pseuds/violetvaria
Summary: James MacGyver is dead.Mac is conflicted.Jack is supportive.~~~set in dickgrysvn's Stablehands + Stable Homes AU





	My Only Guiding Light

**Author's Note:**

  * Inspired by [Stablehands + Stable Homes](https://archiveofourown.org/works/17294171) by [dickgrysvn](https://archiveofourown.org/users/dickgrysvn/pseuds/dickgrysvn). 



> Thanks, as always, to the gracious and talented dickgrysvn for creating and sharing this AU! It is essential to read her story [**Stablehands + Stable Homes**](https://archiveofourown.org/works/17294171), just in general, but especially before (or instead of) anything else in this universe.
> 
> The title is from [**Guiding Light**](https://youtu.be/kRwUzngz9mc) by Mumford & Sons.

“Mac!”

Angus MacGyver Dalton hoisted his duffle and looked around, finally locating Jack, who was grinning and waving. Mac couldn’t keep from grinning back. Trust his dad to spot him at five hundred paces even through the crowd streaming out of the airport. Diane had called it Jack’s “Mac-vision,” but Mac knew Jack could do the same thing with Riley, so his stepmom had adjusted it to “kid-vision,” which irked both her kids and made her husband laugh.

“Hey, Jack.” Mac waited for a family with two small children to cross the sidewalk in front of him before proceeding to the GTO parked at the curb.

“Hey, kiddo.” Mindful of the public area, Jack kept his hug brief, but the embrace was warm and the quick hand on the back of the blond head was gentle. “Good to see you.”

“You too.” Even though he’d been home over winter break just a few months ago, Mac was always surprised to find how much he missed his family, especially Jack. “Diane not here?”

“Nah, she’s chaperoning.” Jack winked as he took Mac’s luggage and tossed it in the back.

Mac rolled his eyes. “Bozer’s there?”

“Yep. Cookin’ up something special for ya.” Jack slid behind the wheel and eyed his son critically. “Just in time, too. Do they not feed you geniuses at MIT?” His tone was teasing, but he was worried. The kid had always been skinny, but in the past couple years, he’d grown nearly as tall as Jack and had filled out a little. Now, he was back to scrawny.

Mac could feel his dad’s searching look and blushed. “I’m fine, Jack. Just…really busy, you know?”

Jack huffed. “Do I need to call you every day and remind you to eat?”

“ _No_ , Jack. I’ll…do better, okay?”

Jack’s expression softened. “Yeah, okay.” Without moving his gaze from the road, he reached out and rested a hand on Mac’s shoulder, squeezing gently. Mac automatically relaxed into the touch. “I’m proud of you, you know that, right?”

“I know.” Mac tried to sound exasperated, but his tone was unmistakably fond. “You tell me that all the time.”

“Well, if you can’t even remember to feed yourself, you might forget other stuff too.”

Mac just shook his head.

“Hey.” Jack’s hand slid to the back of his son’s neck. “You wanna go straight home? Or…somewhere else?”

Mac looked down at his hands, wishing he had something to fidget with. “I—I’m not sure. Um, not home. Not yet, okay?” As much as he loved Diane and Riley and Bozer, Mac wasn’t ready to face anyone right now.

“Sure, kid. Whatever you need,” Jack said softly.

They fell silent, comfortable in the way they always were in each other’s company. Mac stared idly out the window, lost in thought. Jack dropped his hand, but Mac could still feel him there, a warm, steady presence that was always his anchor.

Half an hour later, Mac realized that Jack had driven to one of their favorite parks, pulling into a space littered with cherry blossoms and shaded by a giant tree. Mac breathed deeply, smiling slightly as he took in the blaze of spring rioting across the landscape. The sun was just starting its westward descent, and the sky glowed with oranges and reds and purples and blues. Birds hastened to gather their fill before night, chirping to each other and flitting past the silent, motionless humans. Mac was grateful there was only one other car at the far end of the lot, and it was empty, its occupants probably—judging by the rack on the back of the car—using the bike trails that circled the park.

“Jack,” Mac said suddenly.

“Hm?”

“You always know the right thing to do.” Mac plowed forward before Jack could protest. “Did I do the right thing? Not being involved?”

Jack forced himself to pause instead of immediately shouting _yes_. He needed Mac to know that he was taking his question seriously.

“Son, I don’t think there is a right or wrong thing in your—in this situation. Whatever you want to do—whatever you need to do—that’s what’s right.”

Mac frowned at the expected answer, looking away again.

“You wanna talk about it?” Jack prodded gently.

Mac shook his head but found himself speaking anyway. “Just…I don’t know. What I want. Or need.”

Jack reached across the center console to slide an arm around his son’s shoulders. “Yeah. I’m not gonna say I understand, kid, but you know I’m always gonna support you.”

Mac was embarrassed to find himself tearing up. “I know, Jack.” He clenched his fists and focused on controlling his breathing, even as he felt his dad’s hand start to stroke his hair. He unconsciously leaned into the touch. He would never admit it, not even to himself, but one of the hardest parts of being away from home was going without the physical affection that Jack had always lavished on him.

They stayed there as the sun dipped closer to the horizon.

“It’s not like—I miss him, you know?” Mac finally said, his voice sounding foreign to his ears.

Jack just hummed softly.

“I mean, I haven’t seen him in three years. He—he isn’t my dad anymore.” Mac twisted agitatedly, feeling the need to reassure Jack. “I still have a dad—the best dad.”

Jack’s lips quirked. “Damn right you do, kiddo.” His hand moved to cup his son’s face, thumb delicately brushing his cheekbone. “But—you listenin’ to me, bud?”

Mac’s eyes closed as he turned into his dad’s hand, but he nodded.

“That doesn’t mean you can’t feel anything.” Jack felt Mac twitch slightly and added, “And it doesn’t mean there’s anything wrong with you if you don’t feel anything. There’s no right or wrong, Mac. However you feel is fine.”

Mac was silent again, but Jack could see the storm of thoughts chasing themselves in the variety of expressions that flitted across the kid’s face.

“Is it okay if—if I’m mad?”

Jack didn’t hesitate. “Of course it’s okay.”

“Mm.”

“You wanna—I mean, if you want—you can tell me what you’re mad about. If you want to.”

Mac finally pulled away, opening blue eyes that looked so confused and wounded and—yes, _angry_ —that Jack’s parental instincts were screaming at him to fix this.

But there was nothing he could do. Nothing but listen.

“I don’t know. I’m mad—about everything, I guess. Mad that…I didn’t have a father for so long. Until you.” Mac didn’t seem to realize he’d reached for Jack’s hand, something he hadn’t done since he’d started college, and Jack nearly wept in gratitude when the long, slim fingers intertwined with his. “I spent a long time…you know, afraid of him, and trying to make him happy, and thinking I wasn’t good enough—”

Jack couldn’t help himself. “You’re more than good enough, son.”

Mac offered a half-smile. “I know that now. I know it wasn’t me. But I was so mad that he made me think that, that I wasted so much time…and I was mad because he was—I think he was a pretty good dad before—when my mom was alive.” Mac frowned, looking back down at his lap. “I mean, I can’t really remember, but I thought so.”

Jack tamped down the anger that burned in his gut whenever he thought of James and tightened his grip on his son’s hand.

“It’s okay to—remember good things,” Jack said carefully.

Mac shrugged. “I wish I could remember more. And then I get mad ‘cause I don’t want to remember, and I wish DHS hadn’t even sent that letter, and then I think it’s wrong to feel like that, and—”

“Hey. Look at me. Remember what I said? There is no right or wrong here. It’s okay to wish you didn’t know.”

Jack wished wholeheartedly that Mac hadn’t received that letter. He was James MacGyver’s only blood relative, so even though James had signed away his parental rights, upon his passing, the Department of Human Services had sent a politely worded letter informing Mac of the fact and advising that he was under no obligation to do anything. After several phone discussions with Jack, Mac had decided he didn’t want to be involved in the funeral arrangements, but that he would come home for a few days.

Jack hadn’t yet told him that James had made his own preparations, although he suspected the kid already knew there was a fresh grave next to his mother’s.

Mac shrugged again and sniffed. “But I—I just don’t know—what I’m supposed to do now.”

“What do you mean, buddy?”

“I don’t know. I mean—I can’t really be mad at him anymore. He’s gone. So—who am I mad at now?”

Jack’s breath caught, anticipating his son’s next words.

“And I think—I think I’m mad at _myself_.”

“No,” Jack said instantly. “You haven’t done anything wrong, kid. Nothing. You don’t have anything to blame yourself for, you hear me?”

The tears were slipping down his cheeks now, but Mac kept his voice steady. “I didn’t even say goodbye, Jack. Isn’t that—what people are supposed to do?”

Jack’s voice wobbled as he spoke. “It’s—never too late to say goodbye, kid, if that’s what you want to do. Trust me on that.”

Mac lifted his head to study his dad, eyes and nose reddened, voice a shamed whisper. “What if I can’t, Jack? What if—what if I’m _glad_ he’s gone?”

“Then that’s okay,” Jack said promptly. “ _Whatever_ you feel is okay.”

Mac looked at the cherry tree in front of the car, the fading light tinging the leaves in gold. “It’s like he took my mom away again.”

The words were so quiet it took Jack a minute to process them. “Oh, kiddo.” He couldn’t tell Mac that his memories of his mom were more important than her gravesite, not when he liked to visit his own father’s plot, where Mac sometimes joined him. Out of words, Jack did the only thing he could and leaned over. “C’mere.”

Jack pulled at the kid’s shoulders, aiming for an awkward front-seat hug, but Mac still had his seatbelt on and got caught as he tried to shift closer. He looked so startled at being yanked back that Jack had to laugh, and after a moment, Mac laughed too.

Mac stabbed the button to release the belt, still giggling, and then he was in Jack’s arms, head tucked into the crook of his neck, laughing and crying simultaneously, and Jack wasn’t sure which he was doing himself, but it didn’t matter because he was holding his boy—in the most uncoordinated embrace ever, true—but nothing mattered except that Mac was here and whole and safe, and Jack would spend the rest of his life helping him feel better if that’s what it took.

“Jack? What do I do now?” The position couldn’t be comfortable, but Mac didn’t move away as he repeated the question, voice both desperate and trusting.

Jack tightened his grip, pressing his lips to Mac’s hair before resting his cheek against his son’s temple. “You live your life. Nothing changes that you don’t want to change. Your life is still yours. You’re still you, Mac. You’re still brilliant and caring and the _best son in the world_.”

Mac pulled back slightly to look at Jack as though he were his only guiding light.

Jack met his gaze solidly. “You’re still loved, son. You’re still loved _so much._ ”

After a long moment, Mac broke eye contact, heaving an enormous breath that shuddered only the tiniest bit. He leaned back into his seat, expression more peaceful than it had been since Jack had picked him up at the airport.

“Guess we should see what Bozer’s making, huh?”

Jack reached for the ignition and paused. “You sure? No one’s in any rush.”

“Yeah. I’ll be here for another three days. We can—we’ll have lots of time. Right?”

Jack smiled as he started the car. “Yeah, son. You and me’ve got all the time in the world.”

**Author's Note:**

> Does DHS really send letters to blood relatives when someone (who has severed parental rights) dies? I don't know, but it happened in [**_Becoming Ellen_**](https://www.amazon.com/Becoming-Ellen-Shari-Shattuck/dp/0399167625) by Shari Shattuck (the sequel to the highly recommended [**_Invisible Ellen_**](https://www.amazon.com/Invisible-Ellen-Shari-Shattuck/dp/0425275434)), so that's what I went with.
> 
> This was not the story I intended to write next (several other works in progress). My father passed away April 30, and it has been a...difficult week. Our "relationship" was _complicated_ , to say the least. (That is probably true of most nonfictional fathers.) I really wanted lots and lots of comforting fluff. This is not that piece.
> 
> Maybe I'll go re-read the always satisfying [**Stablehands + Stable Homes**](https://archiveofourown.org/works/17294171) for the forty-third time.


End file.
